Invoke MagazineFeminine Wisdom for an Evolving World2017-10-27T18:14:18Zhttp://invokemagazine.com/feed/atom/WordPressEmily Levanghttp://invokemagazine.comhttp://invokemagazine.com/?p=17102017-10-27T18:14:18Z2017-10-23T17:50:14ZI’ve been conflicted about whether or not to share my “me too” story. I have felt yucky remaining silent, yet I don’t feel safe posting to Facebook. There is something about the medium itself that has kept me from speaking up. I thought about writing something here on Invoke, but I didn’t want to feel the...

]]>I’ve been conflicted about whether or not to share my “me too” story. I have felt yucky remaining silent, yet I don’t feel safe posting to Facebook. There is something about the medium itself that has kept me from speaking up.

I thought about writing something here on Invoke, but I didn’t want to feel the pressure to share something “well written” or to have it become about the result or output. I’ve also grappled with the possibility that I’m feeling some pressure to share because everyone else is—like is this really what’s right for me personally, or am I caught up in the energy of it? I've gone back and forth many times since I first saw the "me too" call to action in my feed early last week: "If all the people who have been sexually harassed or assaulted wrote 'Me too' as a status, we might give people a sense of the magnitude of the problem."

I’ve connected with a number of women in my life who have shared similar concerns and other hesitations. Some have said that Facebook is too public with family, friends, and coworkers, or that the idea of this personal information living on the Facebook server for all of eternity gives them the heebie-jeebies, or that they’d like to share but more anonymously. Others have said they don’t want to create drama by having related people see the post, or that they have survivor’s guilt around others who may have suffered more extreme abuses.

Yet ALL of our stories matter. There is nothing that is “too small” or “too much” to share. As one wise friend advised me, it’s about whether or not sharing is empowering to me or you individually as a woman. It’s about standing up for safety, boundaries, and respect. I came to the conclusion that even though I wanted to share, Facebook didn’t feel safe enough to me.

Through the counsel of dear friends, I decided to create this space on Invoke. Here we’ll hold a safe(r) space (yes, it’s still the internet) where you and I get to decide how much and what we want to share. Below is a submit form, where we invite you to write as much or as little as you want to have posted. You are free to include a full story, a “me too,” or anything in between. You are invited to share your name or let us know if you prefer anonymity. Please do include your email address, which we will keep completely private, in case we have any questions or clarifications. We will add your responses into the text below and moderate this post to only approve comments that are respectful. And if for any reason you change your mind and want your post removed, we will do so promptly.

So all that said, in service of standing up for the sacredness of each and every human life, please share with us if you feel it would be empowering and safe for you as a woman.

[contact-form-7]

I’ll go first:

The waves are pouring in; Facebook is an ocean,
tears held back too long
Me too’s — streams of grief coming together
breaking the dam of silent, alone,
in doubt of our own bodies.

To these rivers of women’s suffering, I offer my own:
Age 17, sexually assaulted by high school boyfriend
Age 19, drugged and raped by a coworker
Age 20, groped by a man in the street
Age 25, coerced into sex by a community leader
Catcalled more times than I could ever count
Taught to question my own experience

"What now?," people ask.
Now we see. Now we grieve.

Not My Fault

Went to a high-class salon.
Thought I was safe.
Sexually assaulted while I was on the massage table.
Should have been safe.
Wasn't.
56 years old at the time.
There are no age boundaries on sexual assault.
Should have been safe.
Wasn't.

– Anonymous

Small Incidents Add Up

The time I was 7 and my babysitter made me lie down in the bathtub naked and spread my legs so he could look at me.

The time my grandfather grabbed my ass at my 8th grade graduation.

The time I was in high school and an 80-year-old Tony-award-winning actor took an "interest" in my budding acting career. He wanted to coach me for my drama school auditions and was very upset that my mom accompanied me always at our meetings. He did try to give me a massage and managed to slip in some wildly inappropriate comments while she was in the next room though.

The time in college when I was studying abroad in India and a man whipped out his private parts in the street and started masturbating while yelling in my direction.

The time in my early twenties when my stepdad's best friend told me I could easily make money as a stripper if I wanted to.

The time in my early thirties when a seasonal contractor at work verbally harassed me then told me not to complain because the last female staff member who spoke up was fired. Then the following year when I was pregnant he continued the behavior just to prove he could.

– Anonymous

Me Too

Me too..and nearly every female I have known.

-L.L.

Uncovering A Dark Earth

I've lost count. I learned the hard way how to keep myself safe. I've traveled solo and that's been a nightmare to find out that everywhere many of the men are willing to insert their dicks while I'm not interested. I hate this.
I've also been places where I couldn't work because of immigration status. Guess what? I became a prostitute, once. Not that I've agreed prior to meeting this perv. Give me a break with politics while I can't even walk safely on the surface of Earth because I've crossed a border & am suddenly deprived of my right to make money which I need to be safe. Prostitution is as horrible as you might think.
Once, a dude I liked got me pregnant, I didn't ask for it: then he treated me like shit & threatened to kill me (and he knows about killing) because I freaked out about it and opted for abortion (the worst act of torture I've ever endured), considering I couldn't find any support or safety with him or the environment (again, I wasn't in my birth country and was an unprotected stranger for it).
To all those that abused, raped me or attempted to, and to all administrations: hi, I'm human too; we're Equals whether you apply/admit it or not. Let's rehumanize each other at all times, in our most ordinary interactions & in the social constructs we use so that we can actually live together on Earth.
I love us.

– Anonymous

All under the auspices of work…

At age 19, my first "serious" job interview a major gallery owner in New York City with grandchildren older than me brought me into his office alone, closed the door, asked me to sit on the couch, sat tightly next to me, barely glancing at my resume and tried to get his hand up my skirt. I jumped up, shocked and tried to run out the door, which wouldn't budge. He made a joke about "not locking me in" and jerked the door open. I ran out and past the reception area desperate to scream out "you're disgusting!" to the entire staff. I didn't. I walked, furious, for many, many blocks to make it back to upper Manhattan, trying not cry. I stopped, because my feet were killing me in my heels, in front of a church. Glancing into a doorway of the church was a man openly masturbating.
Again by my agent, constantly texting me for "meetings" late in the evenings at hotel bars. When I asked him outright if these were dates, he said: "I don't know." I told him I was leaving the agency right before I booked a big commercial. He then stole my cut of the commission.
Again by a producer who I met in a cafe and "wanted to help me." Came to his house for a meeting, worried and suspicious, he then introduced me to his wife and children which relaxed me but then forced a kiss on me moments later. I balked and swiftly left. I never heard from him again.
Again by a writer in a busy hotel restaurant who, when he tried to force a kiss and I denied him, threatened to carry me to his hotel room and "ravish me." I left that waste of a meeting. Then he stalked me for a while.
Again by a film financier who thought our meeting was a date. Hands all over. When I denied him, he said, "ok, ok, I want to help you anyway." He didn't.

– Unsigned

Person

I went to my best friend’s house for a party. His roommate locked me in his room and raped me while the party was happening downstairs. I didn’t tell anyone at the party and just left afterwards because I didn’t want to create problems.

]]>0Tiffany Joslinhttp://invokemagazine.com/?p=16532017-03-16T07:09:47Z2017-03-16T07:09:47ZThere it was, my grandmother’s 1950s Singer Featherweight sewing machine, glaring at me. Its recently refurbished black frame shone with grease from the repairman’s rags. I wanted to sew, but at the same time, I really didn’t. I had put off fixing the machine for years. And now that the machine was usable, I kept...

]]>There it was, my grandmother’s 1950s Singer Featherweight sewing machine, glaring at me. Its recently refurbished black frame shone with grease from the repairman’s rags. I wanted to sew, but at the same time, I really didn’t. I had put off fixing the machine for years. And now that the machine was usable, I kept asking myself one thing: Is it OK for me, a modern 20-something woman, to sew?

After moving to Washington D.C. five years ago, I became obsessed with domesticity. I was working in a specialty coffee shop, and it seemed like all of my new friends were baking or canning vegetables or sewing. These millennials would fall asleep reading cookbooks, bring their knitting needles to social gatherings, or share salted caramel brownies they had made in their spare time. Being domestic was suddenly cool. I followed suit, and most weekends I found myself baking cherry hand pies or loaves of bread for my three roommates (they didn’t complain). I used my fix-it skills to organize our row house, like salvaging an old board from the back yard to turn into a bookshelf. My mom drove my grandmother’s Singer from Indiana out to D.C. so I could start sewing again for the first time since high school technical theater class. I remember weekends in that row house fondly—the kitchen was full of light and my heart was at ease.

However, over time, I began to see a darker side to this trend too. I began to notice how much pressure we were putting on each other to reject the easy way and make things from scratch. Like the time I promised colleagues I would make a birthday cake for a potluck but then got sick several days beforehand. The afternoon of the gathering, I felt well enough to attend but not fully recovered. Still, I decided I had to bring a homemade cake. In my mind, showing up with a store-bought dessert would be humiliating. The recipe was supposed to be easy. I had all the ingredients I needed. I would bake if it killed me.

I flung my ragged body around the kitchen—in hindsight, it wasn’t the most sanitary choice—and spent almost two hours making a two-layered chocolate cake. Except, rather than coming out fluffy, the layers looked more like deflated footballs than anything appetizing. I cried in the middle of the kitchen because I felt so sick, and because I couldn’t believe I had put myself through that. Like the worst contestants on “The Great British Bake Off,” I became so frustrated that I threw the cake in the trash. I went to the grocery store and bought an oversized, dry pound cake that was perfectly fine. Everyone at the party understood. I didn’t mention that I had wasted two hours baking a different cake. But that afternoon felt like a turning point. Why on earth did I put myself through that? What had convinced me that the cake had to be homemade?

Those thoughts wouldn’t go away as I scrolled through cooking blogs like The Kitchn or design sites like Apartment Therapy. Beautiful pictures of ambitious meals, sparkling apartments, and hands-on DIY projects started to feel pressurized. My anxiety spiked every time I looked at them. I had assumed that, in order to be a “real” woman, I had to do these things. But I started questioning this idea. Did I need to spend my weekends re-staining an antique dresser I found at a vintage store? Or, rather than use my hard-earned money to buy a $5 loaf of sourdough from Le Pain Quotidien, should I measure, mix, and knead my way to the staff of life? Was I willingly re-entering the same homemaker role that my grandmother had inhabited and that women had fought so hard to escape? Suddenly, I decided if that was what it meant to be a woman, I didn’t want to be one.

After that, I completely rejected domesticity. I scoffed at it. I began to feel pity for my female friends when they would bring fresh scones to work. I would think, “That poor girl, she could have spent that time pursuing career ambitions.” I wanted to use my time toward something I considered more productive. I hoped to read, to write, and to follow my true passions. I planned to start a side hustle. I wanted to go for long walks. I would do all the things that those other women—the ones I had labeled homebound—couldn’t do. Maybe if I avoided oppressive activities, I would no longer feel suppressed.

But then I noticed my grandmother’s sewing machine, tucked away under a desk. Did I think my grandmother was oppressed? She had been the epitome of a 1950s housewife. She kept an immaculate house, always dressed to the nines, and sewed clothing for her family of five on this same machine. But was she happy? I never got a chance to ask before she died. In my contemporary eyes, her lack of opportunity outside the home was a form of oppression, even if she had found parts of it fulfilling. But could I compare her to my 28-year-old self with a full-time career and a soon-to-be graduate degree? Was it the same for me to sew as it was for her? Maybe my new thinking had become too rigid. I did not face the same expectations as my grandmother did. Back in her day, women were expected to stitch clothing for their entire family. Sewing, for me, could be a practical hobby. It could also, in theory, be fun.

Then I learned from my mom that, for my grandmother, sewing seemed to be an escape. My grandmother had a dedicated sewing room where she would spend hours, often sewing clothes for herself. My mom said she seemed to enjoy it. I realized I was being too judgmental, both of my grandmother and of other modern women who chose to pursue domesticity. What of my fellow women who were stay-at-home moms? The last thing I wanted was to criticize them for their choices. Sure, baking was a gendered hobby that my mom pushed on me and not my brother when I was growing up. But it was also a skill, and one I knew damned well. And it often helped me to relax. Working with my hands had the power to ease my anxiety. To produce something tangible like a cake or a loaf of bread, something you could squeeze and taste and cut with a knife, was a reminder of what else was possible. If I could do this, maybe I could write that book. Maybe I could learn to fix a car or to play drums in a blues band. And sometimes the hobby was just plain fun.

The feminist in me struggled with what step to take next. I hesitated to re-ignite my do-it-yourself attitude because its pull was eerily strong. Even just peeking at design blogs sucked me into what felt like a DIY black hole. This void tried to convince me I should change. After reading about “5 Things Impeccably Organized People Do on Sundays,” I grew ashamed of how disorganized my life suddenly seemed. “The 7 Most Successful Ways to Make a Small Space Seem Less Claustrophobic” made me worry my apartment felt too cramped. My life did not feel good enough. I had to snap myself out of it before I got sucked back in. I re-convinced myself that I didn’t need to change to meet such impossible standards.

There had to be a compromise. I should be able to sew and bake and still be a feminist. After all, what is feminism about if not the pursuit of the choice to do, act, dress, and say whatever we want? I did, however, need to limit time spent on design and cooking websites. Their media kits show that women make up a large majority of the readership for these sites—and millions of us are reading them every month. I would need to be mindful of the power these websites hold over women. Unfortunately, too many women buy into the idea that they need to change in order to measure up. But I was over that idea. I would no longer allow myself to scroll through those websites when I was bored or anxious, filling my brain with unobtainable desires. When I did look at them, it needed to be a conscious decision. After all, I wasn’t going to catch my boyfriend scrolling through Apartment Therapy searching for a better way to organize our foyer, so I shouldn’t feel pressured to organize our foyer either.

In the end, I sat down at my grandmother’s machine and sewed. And it was delightful. I felt accomplished and capable and even a little bit badass. The next day, I started planning that side hustle. The day after that, I went to work. I finally understood that being a real woman meant being complex. And I was all for that.

]]>1Terral Stoltzhttp://www.tlstoltz.comhttp://invokemagazine.com/?p=16322017-02-28T08:42:14Z2017-02-28T08:42:14ZIf you’re a vegetarian, or thinking about becoming one, chances are you’ll be asked if you're getting enough protein. With the growing popularity of a protein-packed diet, you may already be asking yourself the same thing. According to the Academy of Nutrition and Dietetics, a vegetarian diet can meet your protein requirements and provide all...

]]>If you’re a vegetarian, or thinking about becoming one, chances are you’ll be asked if you're getting enough protein. With the growing popularity of a protein-packed diet, you may already be asking yourself the same thing. According to the Academy of Nutrition and Dietetics, a vegetarian diet can meet your protein requirements and provide all the essential amino acids needed for optimal health. Let’s take a closer look at this nutrient.

Why Do We Need It?
Proteins are made up of amino acids, which are the building blocks of muscle, skin, bone, hair, and nails. They’re also involved in the creation of many important substances necessary for life. Of the 20 amino acids, nine are essential and must be obtained in the diet. Most plant proteins are low in one or two essential amino acids, so as a vegetarian it’s important to focus on variety in order to meet your body’s needs. It was once thought that grains and legumes should be combined at meals to create a “complete protein” (one that has all the essential amino acids); however, we now know this is not necessary because amino acids can be stored in the liver and used as needed.

How Much Do We Need?
The recommended dietary allowance for protein is 0.8 grams per kilogram of body weight (or 0.36 grams per pound). For a 130-pound female, that’s about 47 grams of protein per day—roughly equivalent to 6 to 8 ounces of Greek yogurt, 8 ounces of tofu, and 1 ounce of pistachios throughout the day. Some individuals require extra protein—for example, athletes and pregnant woman.

How to Get Enough as a Vegetarian
Aim for a 4- to 6-ounce serving at mealtimes as part of a balanced diet. As an added bonus, eating protein with meals can help you feel more satisfied. Protein sources go beyond the obvious; there’s an abundance of plant-based options to choose from that provide additional nutrients such as fiber, phytonutrients, healthy fats, and an array of vitamins and minerals. Include complete proteins from lacto-ovo vegetarian sources if your diet allows. Choose from the options below and get creative!

Beans, lentils, and peas:add to soups, salads, and side dishes; shape into burgers; eat roasted chickpeas or dehydrated peas as a snack; use pureed beans to thicken soups and sauces; substitute pureed beans for the oil or butter in baked goods—you can swap all or half of the fat for beans.

Tofu, edamame, and tempeh:swap for meat in any recipe; snack on dried edamame; toss in salads, soups, or grains; use pureed silken tofu to make creamy sauces, soups, vegan desserts, and smoothies; add to vegetable kabobs.

Nuts and seeds: try a variety of nut butters; sprinkle in cold or hot cereals; include in baked goods; top salads or grain dishes; make cashew cheese and homemade creamer; blend nut butters into smoothies; enjoy raw as a snack.

Lacto-ovo vegetarian sources:milk, cheese, yogurt, and eggs can give any meal a protein boost. Add hard-boiled eggs to salad; garnish noodles or rice with egg; top savory oats or vegetable side dishes with a poached egg. Greek yogurt makes an excellent substitute for sour cream or buttermilk; sprinkle meals with cheese or enjoy with fruit as a snack or dessert. Be careful not to overdo it, however, since these complete protein sources can also be high in saturated fat and calories. If you’re watching saturated fat intake, choose low-fat dairy or use egg white.

The Bottom Line
The popular belief that a vegetarian diet falls short on protein is misguided. Most foods contain at least some protein, including vegetables. Focus on a balanced diet with the foods above, and you can be sure your diet provides more than enough protein. The next time the protein question comes up, you can answer with confidence. You can also add that research suggests that following a vegetarian diet can reduce your risk of certain diseases and may help you live a longer and healthier life.

]]>0Ariella Forsteinhttp://www.SongstressAriella.comhttp://invokemagazine.com/?p=16612017-02-20T18:47:02Z2017-02-20T18:47:02ZHello friends, old and new. I’m going to get real about saying no. If you’re anything like me, over the years you’ve probably understood the concept of saying no and why it’s important—so that you can give your all during the experiences to which you say yes. Essentially, when we say NO to something we...

If you’re anything like me, over the years you’ve probably understood the concept of saying no and why it’s important—so that you can give your all during the experiences to which you say yes. Essentially, when we say NO to something we truly don’t want to do, we say YES to ourselves.

That’s powerful.

But if I’m going to be honest, I’ll make the claim that the majority of us are only beginning to understand what we truly want. Our desires themselves have been crafted by society.

Again, if you’re like me, you’re consistently focusing on what your truest desires actually are. And if you know what they are, you’re consciously seeing how they can be fully expressed in a society that suppresses passions and pleasure.

So, time and time again, we find ourselves overworked and overbooked, with the best of intentions and things we thought we wanted to do at the time. We look at our calendar and think, where is the time for me?

That’s what this month’s practice aims to support you in: the art of saying no.

Keep in mind this is not an absolute, black-and-white kind of art. As we grow and change and comprehend our truest desires, the art of saying no gets more chiseled to honor our full soul’s calling. In the process, each “yes” we say that should have been a “no” contains a potent lesson that can help you get crystal-clear. And when we heed the lessons, life gets more pleasurable.

A practice to help you say "no":

Take out your calendar. Look at what you have planned for the next month, starting today. Look at each day.

Really evaluate: “Do I fully desire to do this? If I don’t, is it something that I can get away with cancelling, without truly hindering my income, family, or friendships? If it isn’t, how can I start to make changes now, so that in the future I don’t feel like I’ll hinder something by saying yes to me instead?”

Remove the items you’d like to cancel from your calendar and take any related actions needed to bring loving closure to them in your life. Notice how it feels in your body to do this and breathe into whatever arises.

Note: I don’t have children (yet), and I know parents and other caretakers need to approach this subject a bit differently. However, I have an inkling that much of it still applies to you, and I hope this can inspire you to make some changes to more align with your soul’s calling as well.

YOU are the most important thing you’ll ever do. As I am the most important thing I’ll ever do. How can we start saying YES to ourselves first, so that when we do say yes to anything else, we can show up as the relaxed, joyful, ready-to-experience-life humans we know we are?

I’d love to know in the comments below: What realizations did you have when looking at your calendar? What changes did you or will you make?

]]>0Michelle Lozano Villegashttp://invokemagazine.com/?p=16802017-02-09T07:16:11Z2017-02-09T07:01:08ZTrump is president and I am afraid. Sometimes I cry on my way to work or at the warehouse when I'm in a truck all by myself. My boss, bless his pendejo soul, says, "You'll be alriiiiight." Me and my fam, we've always fought that uphill battle—when my single-parent mom didn’t have all the money...

]]>Trump is president and I am afraid. Sometimes I cry on my way to work or at the warehouse when I'm in a truck all by myself. My boss, bless his pendejo soul, says, "You'll be alriiiiight." Me and my fam, we've always fought that uphill battle—when my single-parent mom didn’t have all the money for rent, or when we rolled cheese into tortillas because that was all we had for lunch, or when my husband and I got up early to strategize which dress shirt was more likely to give him an air of “good immigrant” in front of the judge at immigration court that day. Yet in our daily struggles, we've always said one thing to each other: "You'll be alriiiiight." Today, that blind optimism is gone, knocked straight out of us after months and months of watching a man say his nastiest thoughts out loud for people to cheer at, which they did. Still, we didn't outright believe that hate was all that big. Always, there's that one crazy in the family, and those haters on TV—well, those were just the crazies in the American fam.

And then Election Day. And then the electoral college vote. On New Year's, my husband’s family and mine sat around a table in the home of my son’s godmother eating a late dinner waiting for the countdown. When the clock struck midnight, gloom set in. All of a sudden, our mixed-immigration-status, working-class family became afraid. We shook hands and gave hugs and sipped our drinks and ate our grapes, the normal stuff we do every New Year. We also started a new countdown: 20 days till Trump. That first week, I lived in a haze. I felt a new weight on me, and it took me a bit to snap out. "You'll be alriiiiight," said a dimming voice in the farthest corner of my head.

The week of inauguration, this weight loaded on me again. We weren’t gonna be alright. Friday morning it rained and rained and poured and poured in South Los Angeles. My mom, my brother, my kids, and I ran from our home three blocks to the metro, where we bought umbrellas even though we were already soaked. Downtown, we rushed down Broadway to catch up with marching workers and immigrants. Some 10,000 people had gone out under the rain to show we don't agree with a man who will use all his powers to dehumanize everyone not like him. In the cold and under the water, the workers and immigrants stood tall.

On our way back home, I saw a man come up from a subway station. He was a man in a suit and carried a briefcase. He also donned a familiar red Trump hat. I arched my head forward to help my eyes see better, followed his movements, and turned around in a circle with the stroller I was pushing to keep sight of this man who also wanted to make America great again. Our eyes met. I snickered as loudly as I could. He lowered his gaze and picked up his pace. But I also felt a punch to my gut. Hate lives among us.

The next day, Saturday, was the Women's March, better known in some circles as the white woman's march. In Portland, the NAACP had pulled its support from the march some days earlier after the original all-white leadership turned down Black Lives Matter, Muslim, and immigrant issues for being "too political." I had read about this online, and along with other women of color I associated with on social media, I wasn't sure I was down for the cause of protecting white feminism. Then my sister, the least politically inclined person in the family, asked me if I wanted to go. My sister has suffered the most in our clan, psychologically, physically and emotionally, and I sensed she also knew things wouldn't be alright soon. "Let's go, pues."

At the 103rd Street metro station in Watts, my mom, my two kids, my sister, and I struggled to fit into the packed cars. "I've never seen so many women on the train," whispered my sister. "White women," I added, a bit irritated at their presence. Did they know there had also been a march yesterday in the same space we were all heading to now? "They must be coming from Long Beach," my sister offered. Each station picked up more and more people which delayed the train longer and longer. A block before Pico, someone pulled the emergency cord, opened the doors, and jumped out onto the street. I asked a woman to let me sit down a bit. I felt short of breath and was sweating out a hangover from the night before.

"The march will start at 10 am sharp!" said the Facebook event page. It was almost 10:45 when we finally made it into downtown. We ran out from the train, buckled the kids into strollers, and ran out of the station only to walk into a huge crowd of men, women, kids, black, white, brown, moving east on 7th from Fig. The streets were packed! From south to north on Grand and Olive and Hill and Broadway and Spring! From east to west on 7th, 5th, 4th, 3rd, 2nd, and 1st!

We folded our strollers and handed them to my mom. I put my son on my shoulders and my sister grabbed my daughter’s hand. We followed a crowd walking up Broadway and kept our eyes on the creativity of the homemade banners: “Proud Son of a Nasty Woman,” “Viva La Vulva,” “Nasty Women Rock the World,” “Girls Just Want to Have Fun-damental Rights,” “My Body, My Choice,” and so on. Here and there a band marched with the crowds, pink hats to the left, right, north, south, down low on children’s heads and up above on youth who climbed onto posts and bus stop shelters. In the crowd, my animosity quickly dissolved as I spotted the signs and people I needed to see to know I belonged: “Up With Respect, Down with BS,” a Mexican flag, a Salvadoran flag, “Empathy Not Apathy,” “End Oppression on Our Homelands,” “Black Lives Matter,” “Water Is Life,” “Muslim Americans Are Real Americans,” “LGBTQ+ Rights Are Human Rights,” Aztec dancers leading a portion of the crowd and “We the People” posters with red-white-and-blue Muslim, Latina, and black women pictured.

Trump supporters tell us to stop whining, that this president was elected and that we're being sore losers. But the real reason for the dissatisfaction with this new president was evident to me on that bright Saturday morning in a massive crowd of Angelenos pouring in from all sections of the county. Trump stands for everything that is wrong in our society. He stands for racism, sexism, ableism, xenophobia, misogyny, economic corruption, disregard for the environment, and so on. Trump is a menace and his hate is intersectional. He will come for each of us because he can, but he will also come for each us because he's afraid of us. And he should be.

In LA, up to 750,000 people spoke up with their presence. In D.C., too, there were 500,000. Boston had about 150,000; Chicago and New York had near 250,000 each; in Arizona there were 36,000. Around the world, Mexico also participated along with London, Paris, Cape Town, Sydney, and Antartica! Worldwide, more than 2 million people—not just women, not just whites—walked against all types of hate. As the world continues to watch, we must continue to rise for one another. Love for all of humanity trumps hate. And Donald Trump has got to go.

]]>0Siri Undlinhttp://tatterhoodblog.comhttp://invokemagazine.com/?p=16662017-01-31T20:03:17Z2017-01-31T15:13:42ZTuesday Jan. 17, 5:53 pm Minneapolis-St Paul Airport We’ll be lifting off shortly—all collectively choosing to act like flying through the air in a metal, bird-shaped contraption is unremarkable. I wonder at the impeccable patience of flight attendants. While their cheery disposition is at times terrifying, their perfectly folded pocket napkins are oddly comforting. My...

]]>Tuesday Jan. 17, 5:53 pm
Minneapolis-St Paul Airport
We’ll be lifting off shortly—all collectively choosing to act like flying through the air in a metal, bird-shaped contraption is unremarkable. I wonder at the impeccable patience of flight attendants. While their cheery disposition is at times terrifying, their perfectly folded pocket napkins are oddly comforting. My mom sits beside me in the window seat. This was her idea. We’re on our way to Washington D.C. to join the Women’s March on Washington. I remembered to pack my rain jacket and my mom brought hand warmers. I suppose that means we’re as ready as we’ll ever be. When asked her thoughts on the onset of our odyssey, my mom answers, “Now is the time for storytelling”.

Wednesday Jan. 18, 9:46 am
U.S. Capitol Grounds
I wonder whose idea it was to construct a reflection pool in the midst of all these cold towers. What a dreamer they must have been. The wind has picked up and clips the surface of the water. My mom, brother, and I sit on stairs facing out and the sunshine bounces off the white marble, almost as blinding as snow. We are surrounded by port-o-potties that bear the logo“Don’s Johns.” We snicker when we notice this, entertained by the fact that someone has applied blue tape to each and every one, attempting to block the logo from view. One enthusiastic dissenter has taken it one step further and scribbled “Trump Tower.” The capitol building stands regally overhead, though one corner of the American flag has come loose from the center flagstaff. We watch in silence as a maintenance crew struggles to reattach it. “Probably not a good sign,” my brother notes.

Thursday Jan. 19, 11:59 pm
Towson, MD
I’m lying on a blowup mattress in a living room, trying to fall asleep. Inauguration is in less than 12 hours. Mom’s already “asleep” but I sort of think she’s faking it. We’ll be staying with one of her best friends, Anne, for the rest of our trip. Whenever my mom is reunited with Anne, they both fling their arms in the air and sort of curl their torsos in as they run toward each other. They always start laughing as soon as they hug, about nothing in particular. They squeeze into each other and rock side to side with their eyes closed. They’ve done this for as long as I can remember. I have friends with whom I do the exact same thing. Other close friends are staying here as well—Loralee and Luchia. We trade hellos and hugs. True female friendship makes you want to curl in and explode out all at the same time. We laugh when we are reunited, I think, because there is so much to say and yet we’re right back here again and we aren’t alone anymore.

Friday Jan. 20, 5:20 pm
Towson, MDAnn bought poster board and we’ve taken to the paint and markers to write messages in giant letters. “We will be vigilant, but not afraid”—a Barack Obama quote. “Pussies have claws,” says another. I use all the colors I can find to shade in the words “a woman’s place is in the revolution.” Perhaps only a woman can understand the true definition of revolution—the toppling of systems and governments, sure, but also the cycles of life and the revolving door of the human condition. Every month, our bodies revolve, shed lining and build again. A mother has felt parts of her own insides revolve into another human being. We learn early on how to fit our round edges into the square pegs of cultural expectations, but our bodies move in circles whether we like it or not. Tomorrow we will march in honor of that.

Saturday Jan. 21, 11:02 am
L’Enfant Plaza
Masses of people snake up the broken escalators at L’Enfant Plaza. Emerging from the underground tunnel, there is a sudden rush of sunlight and my eyes adjust to see endless pink hats speckle the thick crowd. Mom grips tightly onto my jacket hood so as not to be swept away. My mind scrambles to comprehend the numbers but fails, and our gaze follows the thousands of faces pointed toward giant screens. We watch speakers and musicians whose voices echo twice before reaching us where we stand. The back of my throat aches with a heaviness I can’t seem to place. My heart beats fast. There’s pulsing in my toes. I gaze out, squinting my eyes, and register how my ribcage feels like it’s expanding out from my sternum. I worry that I’m having an anxiety attack or that I’m about to faint. After a moment, I realize: It’s hope. I am feeling hopeful—a hopefulness so pure it hurts.

3:42 pm
Constitution and 15th
With an unfocused gaze, the crowd writhes like a single entity—a slippery body moving in every direction. The people are like salmon in a river. The stream’s current has no end and pushes out in every way. A river of individuals, each person walks into history differently. Mothers and daughters of every shape, color, and creed pass by. Fathers, brothers, and friends have come together too. I think of Mary Wollstonecraft, the Grimké sisters, Sojourner Truth, Lucretia Mott and Alice Paul—names and legacies that too often go untaught. I honor the sacrifice these women made and also acknowledge the imperfections of past feminist movements. We are wrapped in the blanket of history, but perhaps this wave will finally get it right—will lift up the inherent intersectionality of the world as it moves forward. Our hands are cold and our lower backs ache, but still, a little girl holding a green balloon smiles; spontaneous cheers break out; and we revel in the possibility of democracy as old men, in this very city, try to sign our freedoms away. How could a single man’s signature block this tide? Even when the crowd becomes too thick to walk, the people shuffle—forward, forward, forward.

4:07 pm
1600 Pennsylvania Ave. NW
We’ve arrived at the White House. The lights are on and someone’s home, of course. The chants increase in volume. “Welcome to your first day, we will not go away,” the people yell, over and over. I wonder what it sounds like from inside the White House walls. The manicured lawn is so stark compared to the eclectic masses. The contrast is eerie and surreal and gives me chills. Earlier in the day, one of the co-chairs of the women’s march, Linda Sarsour, exclaimed, “I will respect the presidency, but I will not respect this president of the United States of America,” putting an ineffable feeling into language for many of us.

Eventually, our small faction runs across the road to use the port-o-potties. When we recongregate, Anne’s husband, Bill, comes back laughing. He tells us how the lady next to him had exclaimed, “Ugh! I just peed on myself!” to which the lady in the port-o-potty on the other side of him responded, “Golden shower!” We all laugh. As we jump back into the fluid stream of marching people, I turn to my brother and say, “I can’t get over how peaceful this protest is.” “Think about it,” he answers, “everyone is here with their moms.”

7:14 pm
Metro Tunnel
We’re standing on the Green Line on a jam-packed train. We’ve been stopped for 40 minutes or so. Word on the underground is this was the biggest inaugural protest in history—some say 500,000; others say a million. Undoubtedly, there are many women here who have never marched before, who stayed silent when called on by Black Lives Matter and Standing Rock for support. There will be smart, eloquent people who will criticize this march. I will remember what it felt like to be here today and also do my best to listen and learn from those voices. As we wait, a woman from Belfast tells us that she attended the Inauguration yesterday and the Women’s March today. “The fear and drudgery I saw yesterday is not sustainable,” she says. “Today was more than sustainable. This is the sort of feeling that grows and grows.” My throat starts to ache again as I look around. Individuals can be moved by fear and selfishness, of course. But humanity is defined by resilience, creativity, and love. I cry for the first time since arriving, reflecting on the privilege of witnessing this moment, of the privilege it will be to continue standing beside women who exude such ferocity and eloquence in equal parts.

9:22 pm
Towson, MD
Mist falls quietly in Maryland as the car crawls up Anne’s driveway. We sit together in the kitchen, reminiscing on powerful moments and our favorite signs while drinking homemade lemonade. We sporadically scroll through the screens of our respective tablets, fawning over the photos of our sisters across the globe. “100,000 in Minnesota!” my mom exclaims. We are utterly exhausted and still electrified. Photos of Chicago, New York, Los Angeles, London, Oslo, and Boise take our breath away. Did anyone guess how many would come?

Sunday Jan. 22, 5:56 am
BWI Airport
Crusty-eyed, we rise in the morning to fly away, back to whence we came, back to our daily lives where the real work will be done. My mom offers trail mix as we wait to board the plane and the taste of a dried cranberry sends shock signals to my still-sleeping brain. We pass the flight attendants to find our seats and a stewardess asks, “Did you march yesterday?” when she sees the rolled-up protest poster tucked under my mom’s arm. Prompted by our nods, the flight attendant leans forward and smiles, “Thank you for marching for us.” We nod again enthusiastically. “Of course,” we answer, while a woman behind us chimes in, “and the work continues!”

]]>6Lydia Violethttp://lydiafiddle.comhttp://invokemagazine.com/?p=16302017-01-19T18:12:05Z2017-01-19T16:03:58ZHere's some music to feed the soul and fire the spirit, shake our roots and inspire our fruits as we put our hands together for a better world. Image by Elena Ray

]]>2Emily Levanghttp://invokemagazine.comhttp://invokemagazine.com/?p=16282017-01-04T20:30:17Z2017-01-04T15:48:31ZSince the U.S. election I’ve been cycling through grief, fear, overwhelm, and moments of clear action. I spiral into a news wormhole or challenging discussion, and my body clenches tighter and tighter. Yet I’ve also had a few powerful moments of clarity. Those moments come from a recognition that I need to come back to...

]]>Since the U.S. election I’ve been cycling through grief, fear, overwhelm, and moments of clear action. I spiral into a news wormhole or challenging discussion, and my body clenches tighter and tighter. Yet I’ve also had a few powerful moments of clarity. Those moments come from a recognition that I need to come back to center and take a stand for what I believe in. I’ve stopped, breathed, felt my body (especially my heart), and asked myself what it is that deeply matters to me.

We all have gifts to give, and nothing is too small. Now more than ever, everything counts, and every seemingly tiny thing we do joins with a larger collective.

Next time you find yourself in fear or overwhelm around the state of the world:

Pause. Breathe into your heart; feel the tenderness and whatever emotion is there. Allow it to be there. And:

Ask yourself: What is this fear or overwhelm showing me? What is underneath this emotion? What matters deeply to me?

Take that word or phrase and ask yourself: What is one thing I could do to serve that which matters deeply to me? Make it simple and concrete and take immediate action: for example, call a senator asking him or her to support a specific action, make plans to visit a friend who has been having a hard time, or donate money to an organization you trust.

By taking these actions now, we are retraining ourselves. There is so much in the collective consciousness that can pull us into fear and separation. While fear and separation aren’t bad or wrong, we can choose to do our best to give our energy to love, justice, and action rather than being paralyzed by fear.

So far I’ve done this on a few different occasions, with different outcomes: I’ve organized a local water protection meeting, I reached out to a new writer for Invoke, and I donated money to Standing Rock. It’s not a lot. But it’s a start, and by feeding that which matters to me, it can grow and lead to more. I can start to see the fear spiral happening, and rather than give it my energy, I can give my energy to what I love.

]]>2Nasimeh Bahrayni Eastonhttp://NasimehBE.comhttp://invokemagazine.com/?p=16142017-02-11T02:22:19Z2016-12-01T18:13:42ZA few weeks ago, I sat on the edge of my bed, despondent. I sat in pain and bereft. Hurt by this election. Hurt by this rhetoric. Hurt by all the words being tossed around that have broken my heart and the hearts of many women, many people, for so many days over the past...

]]>0Emily Levanghttp://invokemagazine.comhttp://invokemagazine.com/?p=16012016-11-17T18:22:40Z2016-11-17T18:22:40ZIn these turbulent times on earth, we need music that reconnects us—to ourselves, to one another, and to our gratitude for this world. Lydia Violet’s new album, “Already Free,” does just that. Based on her deep study with her teacher Joanna Macy, Lydia created an album to strengthen our hearts and ignite our spirits. Lydia...

]]>In these turbulent times on earth, we need music that reconnects us—to ourselves, to one another, and to our gratitude for this world. Lydia Violet’s new album, “Already Free,” does just that. Based on her deep study with her teacher Joanna Macy, Lydia created an album to strengthen our hearts and ignite our spirits.

Lydia has been playing music all her life, but she didn’t always see it as her central path. Eight years ago Lydia took a seemingly random leap of faith that led her to meet her teacher, Joanna Macy, a wisdom keeper and grandmother of our time. Joanna’s work is based in deep ecology, Buddhism, systems theory, and 50-plus years of international activism. When Lydia met Joanna, she had no idea this connection would completely alter the path of her life, leading her to become a facilitator of Joanna’s Work that Reconnects and a musician raising her voice for justice. It was when Joanna invited Lydia to play her violin at workshops that Lydia discovered the medicinal power of music.

Today, Lydia performs solo, as well as with artists such as Ayla Nereo, Rev. Sekou & the Holy Ghost, The Polish Ambassador, and the collaboration Wildlight. Lydia leads multi-day voice immersions with musicians such as Rising Appalachia, MaMuse, and Ayla Nereo, in order to foster resilience through song. She teaches that music is medicine and that even in dark times we can use the healing power of song to come together and stand for goodness. I had the pleasure of spending an evening with her in her cozy apartment in Berkeley, seated at a low table on colorful cushions among a plethora of musical instruments. I wanted to find out Lydia’s path with the Work That Reconnects and how it led her to sharing her voice with the world.

How do you work with music as a medium for change?
Music has been cultivated for centuries to help sustain the human spirit and the heart and help us feel expressed and seen. I think we can take for granted the things that nourish and keep us resilient in doing the work of change. I think about the civil rights movement—music was integral. There was no march without music. In that community there was already a thriving intelligence that knew how fundamental music was to keep spirit going.

Music wasn't always necessarily a central element in my life like it is now. Now that I'm consciously studying the different ways that music helps heal human beings and communities, it's fundamental. I'm just like, "Oh my God. The music and the Work That Reconnects are completely related."

How did you first connect with Joanna Macy and the Work That Reconnects?
I went to the California Institute of Integral Studies for the drama therapy orientation. I wanted to study the shamanic roots of theater, because I’d been a theater student. I went to the orientation and it was more the clinical use of theater in clinical settings. I realized that wasn't what I was interested in. I went to go meet a friend who was in the philosophy, cosmology and consciousness orientation and I caught the last 10 minutes.

I was like, "What is this?" The nature of what they were talking about was something I’ve always been interested in, but I didn't know a whole field of people were studying it and teaching it. I ended up enrolling in that program. I had Joanna in my first semester, and she started teaching about the Great Turning in the very first session.

She started speaking about what was happening in the world. As soon as she named our pain for the world, I started bawling in the corner. She had named something I had been carrying around but had never been named and I had always taken as a personal fault: “I'm too sensitive, I'm depressed, I'm too empathic, I care too much. I'm affected too much by the homeless person on the street.” It was this experience of all of those people that I've ever felt that kind of empathy for, being with me. I could invite them all back in.

That was eight years ago. Her husband had just passed away when she started teaching the class, so I think she was especially open to nurturing relationships and we just naturally had one. I would go help her once in awhile. Then she started asking me to play violin during workshops or talks or poetry readings. Then it moved from there into actually assisting with workshop facilitation. That took four, five years. It was a lot of diligent listening and observing and studying. Doing the Work that Reconnects up to 15 times a year. Which I needed to do.

It's a huge reason why I navigate the world way better now than I did 10 years ago. I feel like, oh, a difficult thing in the world? I can look at that head-on now. A lot more than I used to be able to. Because that fundamental principle, I think I've embodied now—that the pain I feel in that moment is a reflection of how much I care and that's good news. It's not something I have to be afraid of.

Would you say that the practice of being with our pain for the world is the essence of the Work that Reconnects?
In my experience, it's one of the fundamental inner shifts a person can experience because of this work. Even just naming that is liberating for people.

There's a couple of things that could be general fundamentals. One is that there are three stories of our time on this planet. We’re always walking around and living in and participating in these three stories. None of them supersedes the other; they're all happening at the same time.

The first one you could talk about is Business as Usual.

That's the hallmark story of consumerist culture and the industrial growth society. In that, everything is normal, things are okay, just keep shopping and going to work, buy a house, put your kids in school, that whole thing—that status, mainstream story. Which isn't to be demonized. It's one story that we're living into and accepting as normal. The main problem with it is that it says everything is fine. “This is normal, don't question it, everything is fine.”

When meanwhile …

The Great Unraveling is happening. Which is what Joanna calls the second story. The unraveling of life systems—systems that can support life on the planet. Which is pretty big! It's happening and we're all part of this body, this larger body of earth that's dying all over the place and suffering a lot. There's a lot of people suffering. We talk about “when the crisis comes here,” but it's already been happening for a long time with a lot of people all over the world.

Yes, both of those stories—Business as Usual and the Great Unraveling—can be so overwhelming. Where do we turn?
The third story is the story of the Great Turning. Which is the transition from an unsustainable way of living to a more sustainable way of living or from an industrial growth society to a life-sustaining society.

I think in so much you can see all three. All the different ways that people are trying to heal culture and the earth and each other. There's never been a time in human history where so many people have been participating in trying to generate more sustainable ways of doing things.

As we navigate these three stories, how can we use music as medicine in our own lives?
By listening to music that meets you wherever you need to be met inside, in order to be understood. To not negate that your internal world needs nourishment. A lot of us grow up with shame around making music in our culture. If you’re someone who has always thought, “I would like to be able to sing or make music” or if you’re inspired to do another art, go pursue the things you need in order to do that. Whether that’s buying a pen and paper or finding the people to sing with where you can feel safe. It’s totally okay to need that, and to take it for yourself, and to honor it in others too.

Yes, it seems so important to find our unique place in all of this—to give the gifts we have to give. Do you have any advice about how we as individuals can find our way to contribute to the Great Turning?
The framework I found really helpful relates back to that third story, the story of the Great Turning. The Great Turning is really important for us to be able to track and then see it and sing it and dance it and write it and throw money at it and whatever it is that we want to do. The three dimensions of the Great Turning are a way that Joanna found that was helpful to map and be able to recognize how you participate in it and recognize it in the world.

Holding actions are usually what we imagine when we think of activism. Holding actions are all of those actions people take and the earth takes in her own reparative way to slow down destruction. It's all the people who are lobbying. It's all the people who are trying to document the contaminants that are in water or the contaminants that are in the land. All the things people are doing to call out and slow down destructive practices. Those things are usually what people think of when they think of activism.

We have these other two dimensions also. One of them is creating more sustainable ways of doing things. It could be planting food; it could be the economy. It's how we live together.

Then the third one is the shifts in consciousness work. Almost every decision we make is exactly that, it's a decision. Every action we make comes out of a decision or participation in the decision of another person. The way a grocery store is structured and the food they have in there was someone else's decision. It was an act of their consciousness, of their education. That's why shifts in consciousness are fundamental. You've got people participating in shifts in consciousness such as teachers, writers, and artists. They tend to be some of the ones that are the hardest on themselves. The musicians and the poets and the dancers and spiritual teachers.

Yes, I’ve heard you say that each of the three types of work has its own challenges, and that those working with consciousness shifting tend to experience a lot of self-doubt. Can you share about that struggle?
That's real. The reason why Joanna named it as fundamental is that the new ways of doing things will never take root unless our consciousnesses shifts also. Human beings are beings of consciousness. We act out of consciousness.

In my observation, the people involved in shifts of consciousness work are usually the ones that doubt they're doing anything useful at all.

It's healthy to question if you're being helpful, and we all need to get pretty humble and question that for ourselves. Then on another side of it, we have to also try and have a lot of compassion for ourselves. Because we're beings of imagination, so we can imagine the whole planet healed in a second in our mind's eye. And then we return back to this world and I'm one person on Parker Street in Berkeley in the USA on planet Earth. Now I'm supposed to act. Of course we get overwhelmed, because we can imagine it like that. Then we're like, wait, okay, there's a whole thing happening. A whole ecosystem of hurts and blessings happening every day and then this is where I live and I have to try and figure out the best way to do it.

Also at the end of the day, you're a ridiculous miracle of mystery. That you're alive at all on a planet that's flying through space is ridiculous. We just wake up here. It's like, yeah, you have two eyes, yup, and you have a nose and a mouth and they're all pretty close to each other. Go! Then here's the time you're living in. Woah!!! We're just trying to figure it out. We don't know what's going to happen, but in every moment we're participating with a huge population of people who are trying to create something better.

That's why you're not alone and you don't have to carry it all by yourself. When you go to sleep, there's millions of other people carrying the torch so that you can rest. Then when you get up, you pick up the torch for them and you carry it so they can rest.

As a musician I imagine your work is primarily in the consciousness-raising dimension—how do you relate to that as part of the change that needs to happen in the order world?
It’s fundamental and valuable to be an artist in the Great Turning. Artists sustain us in internal ways that we forget are a fundamental part of our experience being humans. We have internal landscapes that need nourishment, just like our bodies do.

What supports you to stay nourished and keep going in your work?
I have to play music at least every three days. Sometimes I have to play it every day to keep myself nourished. I'm so grateful that I'm taking it so seriously now.

It's also a fundamental way that I think we metabolize pain. Music is one of the last healthy ways that on a mass level we self-soothe. There's a lot of unhealthy ways that we on a mass level self-soothe.

I think it's also a very natural part of the human experience to want to create beauty in some way, in some form in the world. Someone might create it through a meal, and someone might create it through a phone call. Someone might create it through a painting. Someone creates it through a song. Again, those things aren't necessarily valued in a culture where engineered productivity is the most valuable resource.

At the end of the day we just try our best to act from the places we wish to live from, not knowing what’s going to happen. Unfortunately there are no guarantees, but there is still today. We are one person and we're participating in a story. What is your truest intention today, regardless of knowing the outcome tomorrow? I want to sing a song. I want to be helpful. I want to help heal a broken heart and help people put their hands together for our world’s benefit. I'd like to be a helpful person in the world.

What is your intention for your new album “Already Free” as a medium for change?
Every song I wrote is born from my exploration of my own experience and relationship to events in my life and the world. I feel like if I can speak to what’s happening in a way that’s safe and nuanced enough to be right on, the pain can come out from hiding and finally be seen as intelligence and awareness. The first song I wrote the first week Trump was on TV as a potential candidate. I woke up so tired, and I had that giving-up feeling within myself. Like I can’t. I can’t believe this man has a microphone. I can’t do this. I felt like that for three days and was in my own despair. Despair is still giving a damn, though. That’s the catch that we don’t learn in our culture. If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t feel a thing. In that moment you have all of life at your back, because you are letting in your care about what happens to your people, the more-than-human world, and future generations. You are reclaiming your interconnections with all of life. It was also the week it was raining a lot in California for the first time in a long time, so there was also relief. So I just got on my loop pedal and started singing this song. It’s born out of despair and relief and the hope that what’s been lost can come back. They’re very personal songs, but they end up being about bigger things. Every song is born of very tragic or exquisitely beautiful things happening in the world.

My hope is that this album can offer music that supports us in transforming our despair into the courage to come together, for that despair is not a weakness but an indication that we still give a damn about what happens to each other, and in our time that is a holy thing.